


shards of the past reflect the mirror of the future

by symphorophilia (klismaphilia)



Category: Guild Wars, Original Work
Genre: Affection, Desperation, Fluff, Hero Worship, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mirrors, basically just a ton of fluff when Blyke gets there, friends to lovers potentially, selfish mesmers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/symphorophilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please… don’t leave me and you won’t have to lose me. You won’t lose me if I’m with you. You won’t… you can’t leave me alone, Blyke, no, no, p-please… I don’t know how to tell the difference anymore… illusion and reality… what is the mirage really? An inescapable infinity of illusion…” [Guild Wars: Thallis/Blyke, human OCs].</p>
            </blockquote>





	shards of the past reflect the mirror of the future

**Author's Note:**

> finally posting this. consider it some heartwarming angst for the holidays. hopefully Metallica and I (Haiden, mooncake, janitor, whatever tf you wanna call me) will be posting another chapter for TROTFF soon. :) hope everyone has a merry Christmas/happy Hanukkah/lovely Kwanzaa, or whatever else you're celebrating!

It would have been infinitely better had it never happened. Had he kept to himself, never left the limits of Divinity’s Reach… had he never met one Blyke Argentum at Shaemoor and let a single misstep of an event ruin the shambles that had remained of his life.

It wasn’t all that serious, but nothing ever was, and maybe that was why he was here, because he couldn’t even look in the mirror without seeing his mouth slashed open of feeling the blood on his skin, like sweet sweet rivulets of red rain. He didn’t know when exactly he’d lost it- hadn’t exactly had it to begin with, he thinks, as he throws back his head and lets loose a hollow laugh. It’s pitched high, echoes on the wind and he wonders if anyone’s around to hear it, if by some miracle it will carry a tune into Ascalon, reach the ears of that goddamn elementalist and shatter them.

He’s been shattered himself, one too many times.

But it doesn’t matter anymore- what does? What matters in this godforsaken world? The Queen? The fight against Zhaitan? Regardless of popular opinion, Thallis had never pledged allegiance to anyone- hell, there was no need for allegiance. Not in this day and age, when all he could see was himself, when he was surrounded by himself, drowning in himself, staring into those black eyes and toppling over. He didn’t know how to survive- not now, not with his mind splintering and fracturing and fragmenting into a million pieces. What did it mean, being sane?

It had taken some time to get over the blow, to get over the long nights spend alone yearning for something- if nothing but another presence, someone to help him, someone to heal his mind, because he’d been isolated for too long, and he was certain that was one of the reasons why he was now faltering. His hands shook when they grasped for his staff, knees caved in beneath him when he tried to stand. It didn’t mean anything anymore, and neither did he. He was meant to be forgotten, because he was always second best.

He wasn’t the Hero of Shaemoor.

And maybe it was that very incident, that pressing envy of Blyke that had encroached upon his mind, because envy was as great a taker of men as any, but with that still, he didn’t… hate him. How could he? What was… what was hate, in the end? No different than love, and even if his affection was matched only in mirror shards and an unearthly scream against the wind, it was little more than the fire that Blyke had shared with him during the cold winter in the Shiverpeaks or the feel of a hand on his chest, taking away the pierce of a blade too far tainted…

Maybe it was all meaningless, in the end. He certainly wasn’t anything to be marveled at- and neither was Logan Thackaray, not anymore.

So that’s why he swallows when he looks at the figure on the doorstep, still partly shrouded in a dark cloak that’s discarded upon seeing him, standing at the doorway with dark circles under his dark eyes that are sunken into his dark face, and Blyke still looks too goddamn perfect for words- all flawless snow white flesh and that reddish-brown hair, not a lock out of place.

He may have been nobility once, but the words that leave his mouth are anything but hospitable, not showing a shred of dignity.

“You can’t be real.” He says, and it’s that simple- a few short syllables stuttered through chewed-up lips that he can’t help pursing.

And it’s clearly not the welcome Blyke was expecting, because the smile on his lips passes away into a frown as Thallis raises his hands to rub the tiredness from his eyes, choking on what would have been a sob as he tries to shield himself. He doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to see anything else, because the sight too soon will turn bloody. He doesn’t know how many times he’s thought of Blyke Argentum with his throat cut, or impaled on the spear of a centaur, or driven into the dirt as nothing but bones seared by a dragon. Because he worried- he spent too long worrying, and there might have been letters, might have been visits, but he’d never gotten any of them, hadn’t even seen the man in what had to be a year, at least-

He takes a breath, swallows, lets him in.

Before he knows it, Blyke’s sitting on his couch and is looking up at him and he hears tales leave his mouth- the Vigil, the death of his superior officer, the overtaking of Claw Island by the Risen… he’s not sure if the hollowness he detects is real or imagined. He wants Blyke to be as scared as he is, as hollow, as indifferent, but it’s not him at all, it’s someone else, an actual human being, and he doesn’t know why he’s here, so he just poses a question.

“How did you find me?” It doesn’t answer what he wants to know, but it’s a start- more than anything, it’s a start.

“Your sister’s a talkative one,” Blyke says, with an offhand smile, as he gestures for Thallis to sit beside him, but even then, he doesn’t want to- he wants to stand there and crumble into dirt and be crushed into dust and disappear in the hollow remains that I’m surrounded by. Memories, nothing but memories- memories of Blyke, standing over him with his staff in hand, fighting and pushing back the centaur whose sword was about to pierce his chest, split it open.

He wishes, sometimes, that his own blood had been spilled, had leaked out and free and covered stones. He wishes that he hadn’t been captured, hadn’t learned anything, wishes that he could hide, because being here with Blyke is so unnerving… so surreal.

“You should come with me,” Blyke whispers to him before he stands, and then he’s walking toward the mesmer with arms extended and Thallis is pulling back, withdrawing, looking down at him with his chest pounding, unable to form words…

“I-I can’t.” He finally says, because this was what he’d wanted for so long, but it was nothing but a fantasy, and fantasies weren’t likely to come true, not anytime soon. Blyke was off in Ascalon or Orr or the Wastes, and he wasn’t here, and he wasn’t going to be here anytime soon. This wasn’t real, and Thallis wasn’t sure what is anymore.

He’s dropping his staff and looking back at the doorway- ever so empty- and then he realizes that it was only ever himself, because his doppelganger is standing there now, staring back at him, and he knows he’d imagined the whole thing. He feels the awful pang of agony, of heartbreak, inside his ribcage, and he thinks about splitting his chest open and pulling out the heart so he doesn’t have to feel anymore. Emotion is what kills on the battlefield- it’s useless, trivial, and more than anything, unwanted.

But even then, he swears he can feel the touch of a hand on his arm, can see that icy white skin extended, a pale hand wrapped around his pitch one, and he’s never felt so uncomfortable in his skin. He imagines it rotten, dead, and imagines himself lifeless as a corpse, in a coffin sunk in Krytan sea, and then he blinks it all away.

He’s standing before the mirror now and staring into those dark eyes, like deep pools where the Risen drowned before, and his skin is tingling, filled with an insurmountable awe that’s almost destructive, volatile. He wants to see Blyke, wants to see him so badly it hurt- and all he sees is himself. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since a visit from Logan, doesn’t know how long it’s been since he was free, since he’d left the shrouded wood of Sparkfly Fen and wandered across the continent. He thinks about the tales of Elona, thinks about returning, thinks about faltering in poisoned sand and dying in the desert.

He thinks about his spirit drifting away to freedom, but he’s too scared of death to die. He wants to live, but living is so difficult, so painful, full of suffering that he doesn’t want or need, suffering he’d gladly dispose of if given the chance. But he didn’t have a chance, at least not an offered one, although if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d take it anyway.

He thinks about the suffering of his race and he thinks about the suffering of all the races, of every being in Tyria, all the suffering that Blyke was out there pushing back against when Thallis Everett was too goddamn scared to do anything.

He looks in the mirror and he winces, and lets down his guard. His shoulders drop and his knees give way and he draws a breath and lets it out with a keening whine, lets his eyes close as he tilts his head back and screams, the tears streaming down his face and slipping off from his jaw and falling on the floor, where they pool and grow beneath him until he feels soaked, drowns again in his own unfortunate tears.

He doesn’t know what to say, because everything he’s ever thought of, everything he believes in… everything was a fucking lie. It was a lie, and his own life was just as much of one, and if he had to choose between staying here or disappearing, he’d gladly fade away into the Mists.

He doesn’t know if it’s Blyke or if it’s him, but it’s too much.

And then, before he can blink or let another tear fall, there’s a knock on the door.

He doesn’t want to open it.

* * *

Before him, stood the biggest obstacle in history.

It stood there in it’s frame, thick, wooden, and paint flaking away with age. The handle was cold to the touch in his pale hand, and almost like a bite, it was painful. He wasn’t sure why he was standing there in the blue air of the dusk, just waiting for something to happen. It was almost as if he expected the door in front of him to reveal something, a truth maybe, that he’d somehow missed upon his arrival.

Blyke was rooted to the spot, plunged into a sea of angst, fear, and worry. Thallis had sent him a message via crow just a few days before, and the letter had sounded more painful and lonely than Blyke was used to. Blyke remembered tracing the letters of Thallis Everett’s inked scrawl, imagining the man scribbling on the paper in a ferocious and hurried manner, possessed by some frenzied desperation that called out for help. It was a plea, one that Blyke could uncover so easily that it was almost written word for word before his eyes. At that moment, sweating in the depths of Caledon Forest, Blyke knew he had to turn back.

He’d never originally been cut out for this. His sister had always taken the lead, and he’d let her. Many spoke of how his confidence in her drove her to new heights. Some even suggested that Blyke had been his sister’s banner; she never forgot him until the day she died. And now, he was in her place, a copy of sorts, just something else for the people to get distracted by so they wouldn’t worry about their livelihoods. While Zhaitan roamed the skies, and kingdom fought against kingdom, Blyke was well aware that people needed a distraction.

Being the distraction was not his plan.

That’s why Blyke hated himself. He hated himself so much that he wished that he’d simply dissolve, lost to the wind like fine grains of golden sand, flying over Tyria itself and being free for once. He’d never intended to become the famous “Hero of Shaemoor”, and he’d never wanted to fight the battles of others. He’d simply wanted to explore, and help other people, simply for the purpose of hiding and ignoring the pain he felt inside of him.

His black cloud, a thunderstorm of tears...it was always over his head, raining down on him with every passing second. He felt the anchor in his heart and the chains around his lungs, leaving him breathless and panicked, filled with a sense of saddened hysteria that he could never erase. It was the sickness that he could never cure, the cyanide that slept with him each night and rose with him each morning, the gnarled tree that once stood so tall and strong but now curled back in on itself.

He was hiding.

He was running away from himself, running away from the horrors that night held and the hell the darkness brought in its wake. And all for what? Freedom? Happiness? Retribution? No. It was the safety he looked for, but he could never find it. It flew from one corner to the next, and he’d always be running after it. He never looked back at first, simply because he felt so confident. He knew he’d find his safe haven, the sword that broke the chains and released the anchor inside of him. But he never realised that there were nightmares that followed him.

Years ago, hidden in the shadows, he met his first nightmare. Shot after shot of pain was pushed through him as he blindly tried to escape, but with no such luck. He felt like he’d been stabbed, not once, not twice, but over and over again, a repeating beat for something that lasted hours. Even now he can remember the sharp, rough feeling of stone on his cheek, and the force of a hand on his head. They’d taken everything away from him and left him there in the darkness, sobbing and curled up in a ball, left there to rot in his own embarrassment.

Yet here he stood, wiry and strong, blue eyes shining like moons and filled with a fire that kept him going. No...he wouldn’t think about himself, but instead he had to dedicate his life to others. Thallis was just one of the many people he’d helped. He remembered waving his hand and blocking the blade from piercing the man’s heart. He was in bad shape that day, his dark skin glistening and life falling onto the grass beneath his worn shoes. Blyke had simply stepped in.

But what was he to do now. Would Thallis just let him walk back into his life like he’d always done? Blyke had always been forced to walk away, but he’d dragged himself back, no matter how long it took. All this time, he’d asked himself why. Why did he always come back? But the answer was there in front of him, and it was simple.

Thallis was his sword.

He was the clear sky in his thunderstorm, his candle in the suffocating darkness, and although Blyke knew that Thallis had never known him well, he felt it in his heart. He felt the safety he searched for so long, and it was like music to his ears, a symphony that lulled him into a sense of serenity that he craved to feel again.

A warm hand fell on his shoulder, and Blyke felt cool breath on his neck. A small sigh ruffled his hair as he stood there, staring at the door. Blyke wanted to turn around, but he knew that he was plagued by his imagination, his desire for Thallis to be there for him, to understand him, because nobody had ever understood him before. He knew that the real hand on his shoulder was the pale ghostly palm that belonged to him. The cool breath was simply the breeze from the window open in the hallway. In a second, the feeling of Thallis’ presence behind him became a wisp that faded away.

He was behind this door, and Blyke knew it. He’d heard a sob or two, and he was aware that this was not a time for him. It was never a time for Blyke, because he didn’t deserve to be safe. Everyone else had always been more important. Thallis was more important.

He had to knock, and so he did, pale knuckles meeting the splintered door three times in a row. The room inside became silent, as if the world itself was muted. Blyke didn’t wait to be let in. He couldn’t wait for safety any longer, even if that safety was in the form of a broken soul like Thallis.

With a small click and a loud creak, he opened the door.

He couldn’t run from the darkness for much longer.

* * *

He doesn’t know if he should run away- if he should turn and scramble across the floor and tuck his knees to his chest like when he was a child, out of sight and out of mind. But even then, he couldn’t shut it out of his head- the creak of the flat wooden door as it swung inwards, as he tried to press himself back against the wall, pull himself away and just watch.

In a way, he didn’t want to- because he knew that it was never an effect of the mind, the fear when a door opened. He tensed, knew with every inch of his skin, the pulsing in his bones that he was going to die. It couldn’t be prevented. It couldn’t be stopped. And maybe that was all he had been waiting for; waiting for someone to step into the light when he couldn’t, to take their blade and pierce his already cracked-open ribcage, impale his heart until all the blood leaked out.

Even then. Even then, it didn’t matter. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, like the drums before war, aching, piercing, pounding as he looked up, his eyes widening, and almost let out a cry at the sight. He didn’t know whether it was out of the agony, the illusion, the fact that it was all a fucking lie, and Blyke couldn’t be there, couldn’t…

He doesn’t know if the cry was from panic, or if it’s because of how desperately he wants it to be true. To be real. Not just the fantasy world of a pathetic mesmer, conjured up by books and mirrors and staffs, but an actual truth, one that is so real it can’t be deciphered. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t know whether he should inch forward or wrench himself away, so he just… closes his eyes.

You don’t have to see things. Sensory perception… it was a trick. His eyes were tricking him, betraying him, wounding him so deeply and all because of magic, the whirlwind of illusions that wouldn’t leave.

“B-Blyke?” He finally questions, pulling the word from his throat with an almost inevitable crack in his voice. If it was real- if Blyke was here- he knows he should feel ashamed of himself. Letting his voice croak and his body tremble, nothing like the noble he was supposed to be. Gentry didn’t behave like this; nobility were always in control of themselves, always had a front. They didn’t lose it. They weren’t mentally unstable. They weren’t fragile.  
  


But regardless, it doesn’t help him, not now. It feels like he’s a butterfly in the grasp of a young child, wings being ripped from his back as he tried to flutter desperately against the wind- the illusions he’d seen ever since he was a child, the silver and purple butterflies that flew in and out the window with his magic…

Camille hadn’t understood. His parents hadn’t understood. It wasn’t proper, not for him, not for someone of his class, with the potential to be a Lord or a Duke. But in the end, Thallis had never been gentry material. He was just… lost. Like a foolish child, mentally incompetent, snapped in the head. He’d heard it from the villagers themselves- had tried not to take it to heart, but he knew better than anyone how right they were.

He knew how weak he was.

He isn’t sure how he ends up lying there, his arms curled around Blyke’s knees as he holds onto them, his legs tucked under him and robes askew, hair frazzled and uncombed, barely able to focus on anything but his reflection in the mirror, clutching to this tall, icy stranger, who was looking at him with more warmth in his gaze than he’d seen in anyone’s before. He doesn’t know if he should let go, if he should apologize, or if he can keep clutching onto him, trying to assure himself that Blyke was there, a tangible human being-

“Y-You… the letter… f-felt so cold, Blyke… d-didn’t know how to… missed you. Only damn thing I w-wanted to see. Why… why did you c-come back for me? You… fucking idiot. Shouldn’t… shouldn’t have-”

He can feel something clinging to his arms, barely notices until he looks up that there are glass fragments, shards dug deep into black skin, so deep he hadn’t noticed. And the mirror isn’t there, and perhaps it never was, but there’s that figure in front of him, leaning down and reaching out and so impossibly surreal he isn’t sure what he wants.

Blyke is here. He’s real. He’s real.

Thallis tried to cast aside the other thoughts, darker unwanted things floating on the fringes of his mind, but he can’t possibly do it, too overwhelmed, unsure of whether he should feel shame or joy, or anger or guilt.

He supposes his emotions are illusions too; like everything else in the world. Just fictional pieces placed together in an abhorrent way by someone without the strength or skill to mend a thing.

* * *

The door opened slowly, too slowly in fact, in a way that made Blyke feel as if a wave of water would crash down on him from behind it. Already he was overwhelmed, and all he’d done was open a stupid door. Hesitantly, he stepped inside, the soft clunk of his boots colliding gently with the floorboards.

The first thing he noticed was that the room was cold. The windows were wide open, curtains billowing wildly in the wind’s embrace. The candles weren’t lit, and the world was the same blue hue as it had been out in the hallway. An unmade bed laid to one side, with various possessions strewn across the room. A small breath passed through his lips, a white mist that hung in the air for a second, air that was rich with the scent of restless sleep and unending worry.

The room was nothing to Blyke. All that mattered was the man cowering in the corner. Thallis sat there, leaning against the wall, curled up into a ball and sniffling like a child. He eyed Blyke with what looked like a kind of fear. Blyke could see the battle in the man’s eyes. He was itching to move forward, yet afraid of something that Blyke couldn’t process. Blyke made the first move.

Glass snapped under his feet as he drew to closer to Thallis, but he didn’t dare look down, instead staring straight at his goal. A small whimpering sound bubbled up through the black man’s throat, a panicked warble that held enough pain to make any man cry. A few more seconds passed before Thallis finally found the words to speak.

“B-Blyke?”

Hearing his voice sent a shiver down Blyke’s spine. It was an old memory, his voice, and Blyke remembered it clearly. The warmth escaped Thallis from every pore, but now Blyke sensed that only the cold was left within him. Maybe it was the open window that held this effect, but maybe instead it was what had broken his friend deep inside of him. Blyke felt numb, and his mouth couldn’t speak because his throat was so dry.

Actions could always speak louder than words, so Blyke did what he could, by kneeling down next to his dishevelled friend and attempting to comfort him. Almost immediately, Thallis reached out, shakily hugging Blyke’s knees before speaking once more.

“Y-You...the letter...felt so cold, Blyke...d-didn’t know how to...missed you…”

Blyke let his companion stutter out his words. Thallis had missed him so much that he’d written a letter for him? Blyke felt uneasy, for he knew that there was something his friend was hiding something...or maybe not. Blyke didn’t know, for he wasn’t the one to always see things as black and white. He prefers to cross boundaries and read between the lines...to lose himself in what had been said to him and to analyse people. Blyke let his staff clatter to the floor beside him, and looked more closely at Thallis. Several shards of glass had been buried deep in the man’s arm, and he shivered from the cold.

Again, Blyke chose to act rather than speak. Consolement came after safety. He rose from Thallis, ignoring the pained whine that followed, and he closed the window. He strode over to the candles and lit them, unfastening his cloak and laying it over his arm. He made a speedy return to Thallis, and studied his injuries intensely. For a second, Blyke thought Thallis shrunk somewhat under his intense gaze, but he was far too absorbed in his thought process to dwell on it.

Thallis was in trouble, and Blyke was well aware that he had to push his constant pain to one side. In that respect, he had always been the same, helping others without too much thought. And here he was, ignoring the heaviness in his heart and using it to pick up the pieces his friend had left in his wake. He put his winter cloak around Thallis’ shoulders and cast a simple healing spell, one that was powerful enough to heal his wounds at least.

If there were any screams of pain, Blyke simply didn’t hear them, for he was far too immersed in his work. The glass shards rose slowly out of Thallis’ arm, and the wounds closed, the space between the duo filled with the white light of his healing spell, spiralling sigils twisting and turning, reflected in Thallis’ eyes.

Blyke was captivated at this moment, watching with a small smile at Thallis’ expression. The man appeared to be almost transfixed by the fading spell, before redirecting his attention back to Blyke’s face once more. Grabbing Thallis firmly by the elbow, Blyke rose, pulling his friend up with him.

You fucking idiot. You shouldn’t have-

His friend’s words resounded in his head and hung there, but he simply smiled to himself again. Of course he had to come back. He didn’t have a reason not to, and Thallis was important to him. Even now, holding Thallis steady as he leaned against him, he could feel the warmth blossoming in his chest. He’d finally returned home to Thallis, and in this moment, that was all that mattered.

“Come on you,” Blyke finally uttered, his voice soothing and warm. “Let’s get you sorted out.”

Because when Thallis couldn’t do something, then Blyke would do it for him.

* * *

He wasn’t sure if he should pull away, but there was something that was just so… contenting about being around Blyke Argentum. Maybe it was those blue eyes, for as pained as they were, They also sparkled with a mirth that the mesmer hadn’t seen in a very long time. Something that was so ultimately warm it made his fingers tremble when he fumbled and tangled them in Blyke’s shirt, trying not to just… just show how affected he was by that smile.

Was that strange? That sudden pang of emotion in his chest, completely light and almost bubbly… He didn’t know if there was something to compare it with; drinking champagne with Anise or simply fighting alongside his sister… none of it really held that same effect. And that was… odd. To say the least. He wasn’t quite sure where the insurmountable pressure had come from, but it was something he could appreciate… for what it was worth. He wasn’t going to take it for granted.

There was still that ache, that subtle pang at the back of his mind, nagging him in a chiding voice that it’s not real, Thallis, you need to get out of your little head- but it had dimmed almost considerably along with the pain that had been embedded throughout his body. Some sort of ache, something that was so deep inside his bones he hadn’t thought it possible to get rid of.

He barely paid any mind to what Blyke was doing, still halfway frozen, still shivering with his arms pulled up to his chest and his hair falling over his shoulders and out of the band it was tied in, unsure of whether or not he wanted to try and meet the elementalist’s eyes again. It had been so long… longer than he’d thought possible. Or perhaps the time had been imagined; perhaps everything else had been. He doesn’t know how much time has passed with him locked away here, trying to shut out the prying eyes and listening ears of Kryta.

“Blyke…” he coughed out, but he goes silent as the man forces him to sit on the edge of his bed, pulling the blankets up and around his shoulders in a way that almost made him feel like a kid, almost made him feel like… he was being taken care of by his sister again, or his parents. But it was Blyke, and Blyke shouldn’t… shouldn’t have to do this, shouldn’t have to fix whatever the mess was that Thallis had created, because it was absolutely nothing that should be mended, nothing that anyone else had taken part in…

He can feel the glass inside his head shattering, along with the glass from the mirror and the glass on the walls and in the few picture frames he’d kept. But it’s not real glass; it’s fictional, like memories, completely dismissive, not worth the thought. So he covers it up, covers up the ache in his head, and pulls his blanket further around his chest, giving a soft glance up to the elementalist.

“Hadn’t really… wasn’t sure. Honestly. Wasn’t sure if you were coming back. I mean… they’re telling stories about you these days. You’re a hero. I don’t know- I guess it just made me think that… there wasn’t any reason for you to leave that behind. But I suppose I’m not one to talk- not with what I left, back in Divinity’s Reach.”

Blyke shivered slightly at that.

“Stories are just stories,” he told the mesmer simply. “And you needed me. So I came back.”

He made it sound so simple. Like it was an obvious choice, when… when there was a continent out there that needed Blyke Argentum more than a single, stupid mesmer. And maybe it was that thought, that Blyke came back, that drove him to choke on the words he’d wanted to say, the questions he’d needed to ask, and just shut his eyes, tightly. Thallis wasn’t sure; he wasn’t sure if it was just selfish desire, neediness that caused him to write than letter, or if it was… something more.

Kinship, maybe. Perhaps even love. What was love, really? Nothing he could pin down, other than the sparks that flew from his skin when the elementalist touched him, or the way he instinctively wanted to look at Blyke whenever the man turned his head away.

“Don’t leave again. Please. I know this isn’t… the welcome you were expecting. But… I’d appreciate the company. It’s…” he doesn’t say it, doesn’t think he can force the words out, so he just bites down on his chewed-up lip again, and says, “I missed you. So much more than you could possibly believe. It… sounds foolish when I say it. But it means a lot… to see you. In good health, I can hope.”

Blyke shifted uncomfortably. Of course. Of course he had to ask about his health of all things. It had to be Thallis, fucking Thallis that always made sure he was okay. However, with the spike of annoyance, came a rush of gratitude and the feverish feeling that came with sheepishness was evident in his cheeks. His elbow gently brushed his side, a wound that was still healing. He made the mental decision to not make Thallis aware of it.

“Uh…” Blyke rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’ve been fine. I’ve missed you too. But...shit, Thallis, what happened here? Are you alright? This isn’t you.”

Blyke was already worried for Thallis as it is, and the scene he’d just walked in on had made him more concerned about the mesmer’s health. What if he went away and came back to a more dire situation? Blyke hated the fact that he had to go on all of these quests, but as much as he wanted to stay with Thallis, there were other people that demanded his attention. Yet still...with Thallis like this...it made him want to just abandon the Vigil and make sure he was okay.  

He doesn’t know what he should say- of course, there’s probably so much that he should, but none of it passes his lips, wants to roll off the tongue. It’s sticky against the roof of his mouth, almost tastes like poison, and he can’t get it out of his system even if he wants to. He isn’t sure how to explain it to Blyke- how he’d snapped, how nothing here was real, how Thallis wasn’t even sure he was real.

It was like being paper, so fragile, torn apart so easily at the slightest touch of a blade or pen or even the hands of another. Paper that was being burned in the encompassing fires of whatever Tyria had become, something that would soon turn to ash and float away on crystalline waves, out to sea.

He doesn’t want to come off as… inadequate. Blyke isn’t the type to think of such things- such formalities. But to be fair, this comfort… it wasn’t something Thallis was used to, wasn’t something he was used to being given or sharing, and he felt more than anything that he should keep his mouth closed, prevent ruining anything else…

He isn’t sure why the words finally slip his lips.

“I don’t know…” he says softly, reaching up enough that he can grab hold of Blyke’s hand, pull it close with his own and entwine dark fingers with light as he says again, “I don’t know.” He sighs, inhales, pulls back again, and turns his head to face the ground. “Sometimes… I just… it’s all illusion, Blyke. Everything… nothing is real. I don’t know if I’m real, or if you are- for all I know, this is in my head. The mirror’s gone, the glass… I don’t know where my staff went… I’ve lost… lost it, Blyke. Lost everything. Don’t want to lose you too.”

As Thallis entwined his dark fingers around Blyke’s pale ones, the elementalist did all he could not to jump at the electricity that sparked between them. Ugh, why was he so weird. Why was it that Thallis could leave him feeling so vulnerable without even doing anything?

Damn you Thallis! Blyke thought desperately, as he gently squeezed the man’s hand before he took it away.

He looked so forlorn, so alone, so...afraid of everything that it broke Blyke’s heart to see him like this. And...he’d lost his staff as well? This only worried Blyke more. Thallis wasn’t well. The mesmer went everywhere with that staff, and never parted from it. But even greater than that, was that the thing Thallis seemed most concerned about was losing Blyke himself. He felt so warm inside that he felt like he could fly. His heart was like a hummingbird’s, and he was soaring, almost ecstatic in some ways, that Thallis cared that much for him. It felt good, and Blyke didn’t know why. But he went along with it anyway.

“I’ll find your staff,” he told Thallis firmly. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

He considered the mesmer’s words and added:

“Everything here is real. Yes, it’s hard sometimes, and the world can be tough on you, It can drag you down and leave you there all alone. But you need to remember that even if this hurt and this pain is all real, then you have to keep going. There are people here for you that care! I...I can’t lose you, Thallis…”

Blyke grimaced at his thoughts. He was raised to always “practice what he preached”, but he had always been a hypocrite. Hell, the world was full of hypocrites! The dark cloud in his thoughts threatened to return, but he pushed them away, albeit halfheartedly. Instead, he chose to distract himself by watching the flickering candle on the bedside table nearby. Could he continue living like this? Could he run off to one place and always come back to Thallis? He would love to make a promise like that freely, but even Blyke knew that there was always the possibility that he could die out there, and then poor Thallis would be left alone…

Thallis can’t help shaking at Blyke’s words, almost withdrawing into himself again, his shuddering only increasing when he hears the glasses reconstructing themselves and the candles going out again-

He knows it’s not real. He knows it’s not, because Blyke’s hand is on his shoulder and he’s blinking away pitch tears and swallowing back a sob of his own at how dark it all was, how dark everything was… It was like it was seeping into his skin, through his veins and into his bloodstream, flooding him with pitch and self-loathing and an indescribable need to just get away from it all-!

He’s looking back up at Blyke, and the room’s settling again, and he just repeats, “This is real.” But it comes out as more of a question than anything, as if he can’t believe it himself, like he’s lying to his own ears, and that scares him as much as anything. He doesn’t want to focus on Blyke, because he feels silly and childish, scared of something that nobody in their right mind would be scared of, not wanting to lose him…

“Sit with me,” he finally coughs out, reaching back up and grabbing Blyke’s arm, looking up at him with eyes that he hopes aren’t too open, because the desperation is so clearly reflected in his voice, the desperation of how much he needs this company, needs Blyke.

He’s pulling Blyke closer, until the elementalist is sitting beside him and he can wrap arms around him, bury his face into the man’s shoulder briefly, trying to hide the drying tears on his face, before he pulls back, takes in a deep breath.

“Please… don’t leave me and you won’t have to lose me. You won’t lose me if I’m with you. You won’t… you can’t leave me alone, Blyke, no, no, p-please… I don’t know how to tell the difference anymore… illusion and reality… what is the mirage really? An inescapable infinity of illusion…”

Blyke was conflicted. He had a duty to Tyria, but he also had a duty to Thallis, to his sister, to his parents...to everyone. All of these duties had to be kept, and although the current compromise wasn’t ideal, it was something Blyke had to deal with.

He wanted to lie. He wanted to lie to Thallis and tell him that it would all be okay, and that he’d leave his work behind and carry on in life with Thallis. Every part of him screamed, calling out to him to remain with the one man he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

But he couldn’t.

And Blyke hated himself for it.

“Thallis...I’m sorry...but I can’t promise that,” Blyke explained slowly. “If I could, I’d stay with you forever, but there are some things that all of us must do. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I...I guess I just...I just...need to do my duty.”

It hurt Blyke a lot to say that, but he knew that it had to be done. He liked Thallis a lot. He wanted to be with him more often, especially with the mesmer in such a broken state and with such a tendency to hurt himself. Yet, Blyke had to look to the greater good. He didn’t want to, but this was one man’s life against so many others. Even if that man’s life held his heart in his hands, he still had to help Tyria, otherwise, who else would help them? He cursed himself for his words and stared down at the floor in shame and anger at his decision.

Maybe it was wrong of Thallis, to pull away instantly, slamming his hand outward against the elementalist’s chest as he withdrew, curling his body inwards as he tried not to focus on it, not to look at him, because if he looked, he’d never be able to stop looking, and where would that get him? More pain. More heartbreak.

That’s all it was, in the end. Fucking lies. Nothing real, nothing real at all, some sort of twisted fantasy preserved in the mirror shards. They had to be taunting him, his magic was taunting him, fucking Blyke-

Everything. He didn’t understand it anymore, pressing hands into his head and rocking back and forth with hands over his ears, trying to block out whatever sounds were still there, whatever presence was still there. Because maybe he hadn’t lost everything before, but now he had, and he hadn’t the faintest idea what to do-

It was all bullshit. That was the worst thing- finding out that everything you believed in for your entire life was bullshit, he thought. It was… so agonizing, threatening to push into his chest and collapse his heart from the inside out. Or maybe his lungs would stop first… maybe his stomach, his kidneys… he didn’t know. He just knew that he thought he’d suffocate, on all the fucking lies, all the fantasy, all that nonsense that he’d been prattling about with since he could remember.

What was real? What mattered? Was the world just a sphere of nothingness, a web of lies, something that was so corrupt he couldn’t have one goddamn thing for himself? Was it wrong, to give up like this? To give up, to quit caring, quit trying, just… die.

A meaningless death to accompany a meaningless life. There wasn’t much of a difference, in the end.

“Leave me alone,” he hissed, trying to hide his face, cover his tears and unearthly sobs in whatever life was left in the room. “Get the fuck away from me-!” He inhaled, deeply, hands slipping back onto his head as he tried to calm his breathing, whatever labored thing that remained…

“Blyke… you should… I hope you never come back. I hope you don’t get to see it when it happens. I hope you suffer, because you’re the only one who I fucking cared about, the only person I’ve ever had this ache for, you son of a bitch-”

Blyke was unusually calm, ignoring the fading pain of the mesmers hit on his chest, and just sitting there and taking the words in. They echoed around the room and fired at him like bullet, and they struck deep. They burrowed down into him, into his very core and summoned the thundercloud back to his heart. Thallis was hurting him, but that hurt was not one of pain, but of need. Thallis couldn’t hurt him. Maybe before he could have, but now, upon the dawn of a sudden idea rising to Blyke’s mind gave him hope and made him strong.

This idea had one danger, but Blyke knew well enough that he’d be fine with doing that, with keeping a careful eye on Thallis. Blyke was convinced that Thallis was just being delusional, and if he listened to him, then maybe things would go his way.

Blyke stood up in front of Thallis, next to the door.

“I’ll leave, Thallis,” he told him woefully. “But only if you come with me.”

With his words, he gripped his staff in one hand and raise his other out towards Thallis, just hoping, hoping, that the man would realise that he cared enough about him to want him to stay by his side, where they’d always be together. Sure, it put Thallis in danger, but Blyke knew that it was part of his duty to protect those that mattered.

And fucking hell, did Thallis matter.  

Thallis couldn’t even describe what those words meant. How often he’d wanted to hear them, thought he’d heard them, tried to consider that it was even a possibility- but was it? What was he to do, if he went with Blyke? Wouldn’t he only get in the way? Without his staff, his powers were too erratic to keep calmed…

And his emotions too. His emotions… just got in the way of everything. He got in the way of everything. That’s why he was the second-tier. He wasn’t worthy of any titles, any honors, any respect. He wasn’t really worth anything.

So why was Blyke making the offer?

He doesn’t know if he should trust it, but he knows that it sets off a pounding inside his ribcage and a beat that grows in his ears and makes his head spin just a little more than it should. He doesn’t know if he should accept, but he’d be a fool not to, with how clearly… how… how much he needs the man.

“W… why…? Why would you w-want that? I just… I’m going to break things. I already broke everything. All the glass… oh.”

It took him a moment to realize that there wasn’t any glass; not on the floors, the walls, no broken windows. A candle still flickered briefly on the table standing near Blyke… unwavering. There was… there wasn’t anything wrong. Not like there had been. And Blyke was here, he wasn’t bleeding out from a spear in his gut or being stomped into the ground by a horde of centaurs or risen…

“I… do you want that?”

“Thallis…” Blyke sighed. “The question is why not? If you break things, then I’ll fix them. If you need me, I’ll try and be there for you. And if I’m offering you this? Then yes, you better stay by my side, or so help me I’ll drag you behind me.”

Maybe he was trying to be too positive in the hopes that Thallis’ mood would improve. Maybe it was just some kind of false hope. But all Blyke really cared about right now was making sure that Thallis was safe, and that tomorrow, he’d be by his side.

He doesn’t have words, not for a good few moments, and he’s sure his brow is furrowed, as if he’s more confused over the matter than he actually is. But in the end, it doesn’t keep him back, doesn’t keep him from standing and taking hold of Blyke’s hand, letting the elementalist pull him back to his feet.

“Then it’s a yes from me.” He says, attempting to let a smile pass over his lips as he looks toward the door. “Who am I to reject you?”

“Well, gathering by what you said a minute ago…” Blyke chided him, maybe sounding slightly upset, but more tired than anything.

He pulled the mesmer in for a hug, holding him tightly, almost as if he didn’t want to let the man go again.

He couldn’t deny that he was being contradictory, but the intensity of Blyke’s warmth, pulling him closer, was nearly overwhelming, enough to cause the thoughts to slip from the mesmer’s mind. He couldn’t help blinking a few times, concentrating just on the look displayed on his friend’s face, the feeling of being so close to someone…

It was distracting, it was genuine and it was real. He didn’t pull away, didn’t even try to, just gave a soft glance at the elementalist’s face and sighed.

“I’m sorry, Blyke,” he said, before relaxing just ever so slightly, letting the tenseness in his shoulders down as he exhaled shakily. “Sorry for putting you through all this… but trust me when I say there’s no place I’d rather be than by your side.”

Placing his warm hand on the mesmer’s shoulder, Blyke felt the tenseness in his muscles. He squeezed Thallis’ shoulder gently in silent reassurance.  

“You don’t have to apologise,” Blyke replied. “I trust you enough to make that up to me by not dying.”

Blyke’s hand slid of Thallis’ shoulder and dropped by his side. He creaked open the door, as if to leave, but faltered in his step.

“Are you ready?” He questioned.

Thallis doesn’t think that there are any words that will suffice for the feelings that have built up in his chest over the course of the evening; like being torn asunder and pulled back together, almost impossibly so. It was a surreal feeling, something that he wasn’t sure he could even fully comprehend on his own… but maybe with Blyke he’d be able to come to terms with himself. Come to terms with Kryta, Tyria, the evolution of whatever hell had crumbled in around him over these past few years.

Maybe Blyke was a first step towards… something real. His regaining of humanity… or whatever it was he’d actually lost. And so he can’t think of any words to give the other man, but he can think enough that he slips his hand into Blyke’s and offers a barely-notable smile to the other, his eyes curving at the sides just enough to make out that it’s something genuine.

**  
** _“I suppose I am.”_


End file.
